love. recovery. bad advice.

Parts 2-7: Lady Parts is Parts is Parts

Hi!

I intended to have my 2-part then-and-now tragicomical little blog post be about the 2008 presidential election season and my 2008 ovarian cyst – what it was like 4 years ago and how different things are now. But then shit got real: a couple of things stayed the same. The good “same” is that my honest and trustworthy boyfriends got re-elected. The bad “same” is that the gross ovarian blob (now more varieties for the same great price!) of 2008 slithered back into my body. That was totally unexpected. That totally harshed my boner. This past May I was told that there was a 95% chance my cysts would not return. This past Thursday I was told they did and I have to have a hysterectomy. What a mind-fuck!! Well hell, crown me “Miss 5%” and tell the Bearded Lady she’s about to get some competition!

Then – October / November 2008

So, my last blog and my last blob, where was I? Yes, launching republican Aquarians into outer space, returning from the emergency room to watch Joe and Sarah debate, languishing miserably (but oh so high) at home alone with my big twisty cysty. I had surgery a few days later – they had to take out my poor little right ovary, too, because the cyst was so obnoxious. My recovery from surgery was the happiest time I had had in so so so many years – being all bandaged and balloony, alone, my only job – the only thing I could do – was whimper, stare blankly at the TV, and heal. No one expected anything else from me – I couldn’t let anyone down. And things got even better! I’m not kidding. I got called in early for my follow-up appointment and got the news that my cyst was malignant. WINNING! Seriously, it was as if I won the lottery. God finally threw me a bone, a meaty bone. I’ve written before about my drinking life and the suicidal ideation, and fantasies of martyrdom. Cancer = perfect. Tumors from Heaven! It would be an innocent death! I wouldn’t have to do anything, again, not let anyone down, just hang on and be brave, be brave… be patient – it’ll all be over soon.

I am very lucky that I have never had anyone close to me suffer and die from cancer, but I have seen “Dying Young” a hundred times, so I get the gist, and still that seemed a more appealing fate than carrying on with life the way I was. Quitting drinking was not an option – duh – it wasn’t a problem so why would I stop? Anyway, when my GYN gave me the news, she followed it by saying, “You’re going to die.. but not for a long long time and it’s not going to be from this”. DISAPPOINTED! So, I got a second opinion. He said the same. DISAPPOINTED! He said I am going to be fine, and I just need to have ultrasounds and blood tests every six months for the rest of my long life. GROSSED OUT AND DISAPPOINTED!

Now, you might think I’d have taken an honest look at things and considered making some changes, like with my health (wanted to die = non-issue), or my lifestyle (why? What’s the problem?). No. I started panicking about my age. I was 36. If I wanted to have kids, which I certainly most assuredly without a doubt did indeed, I’d have to get that party started. “Screen Name: Slushkitty. Likes: Long walks on the beach and dating assholes”. Let on-line dating begin! The on-line dating lasted about 2.5 years until I got sober 1.56 years ago. I got a couple of catastrophic relationships out of it… and a trip to Mexico to play with spider monkeys.. with a closet alcoholic. Despite the infuriation and humiliation, I do believe I had to go through the on-line dating experience, it was on my path. I did after all have a couple of dates with an angel “Bed” – I’ve mentioned him before – who I asked to take me to my first meeting after I hit my bottom with “&^%$#@” who bullied and pushed me screaming over the edge and straight into my moment of grace, into sobriety.

Now – November 2012

For the past four years, quite remarkably, I have been keeping the appointments and having those delightful ultrasounds and blood tests. A couple of times I was hoping for bad (good) news, but mostly I was apathetic. In sobriety, I really haven’t had any emotions around them at all – they’re just routine and everything always comes back pretty and pink. The malignancy I had four years ago was non-invasive and the whole ordeal was over before it started. It was no big whoop. As I mentioned, I went in May for my routine check-up, and my oncologist said everything was just fantastic and there was only a 5% chance of it coming back. Well, I found out Thursday the bitch came back and brought a couple of friends. My Little Ovary That Could can’t anymore, so I have to have a hysterectomy next Saturday. These are my lady parts being bid adieu: ovary, simple appearing ovarian cyst, complex ovarian cyst, endometrioma cyst, uterus, fallopian tube, and cervix. GROSSED OUT AND TERRIFIED!

The shock has sort of worn off, and the nearly paralyzing fear comes and goes in waves. There are so many things to worry about and I’m having more emotions than I can identify. I knew that I would probably get a bucketful of kindness and compassion from my loved ones but Holy Shit, Batman! I don’t want to get too sappy because I kind of feel like I need to save some material for my speech at my living memorial service (I’m 50% kidding – I’m 100% terrified). The Love that I have been overwhelmed with makes my lady parts want to throw a hoedown, square-dance, and scream “Yeeehaw!” to celebrate their last week on earth! On behalf of my lady parts, I would like to say, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for making these past 1.56 years possible and almost impossibly lovely”.

My friend suggested a throw a Going Away Party for my uterus and I think that’s the most brilliant idea I’ve heard in recent memory. What do you say, guys! If I throw it (at someone else’s house), will you come? I think it should be egg-themed. Yeeehaw! (I’m totally serious about the party).

You are an inspiration. Hanging around with you is so helpful, as flakes of your awesomeness tumble about you, I happily collect and store them for replenishment (that is either wicked cool or awesomely creepy and disgusting – your choice).

You are brave. You are unbelievably funny. Your talent for writing is enviable.

By the by: the number of states in which we may legally marry is happily growing… wink.